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Snippets 07.04
The monthly round-up of films for July
This is the second in the Snippets series of shorter film reviews - a brief look at the films seen during the associated month. Each film included in an edition of Snippets is also listed in the alphabetical film index for ease of reference.
The films in the July 2004 Snippets are:
>> My Beautiful Launderette
>> Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind
>> Mystic River
>> Whale Rider
>> The Fifth Element
>> Spider-man 2
>> My Beautiful Launderette
>> Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind
>> Mystic River
>> Whale Rider
>> The Fifth Element
>> Spider-man 2
Stephen Frears's most recent film, Dirty Pretty Things, revisited ground that he had already explored in My Beautiful Launderette - a wry, sardonic look at life as an Indian entrepreneur in the mid-1980s of Thatcher's Disunited Kingdom. Both films are concerned with a foreigner's view of this Small Island, mainly exploring this theme through a single protagonist as he confronts the barriers that allow him to succeed in his chosen profession. Both conclude with little in favour of the (anti-)hero's choice of home: if "in this country which we both hate and love you can get anything you want", why are there so many barriers to prevent someone of a different cultural background experiencing the opportunities that are afforded to caucasian folk?
There are some neatly comic touches, mostly revolving around the intimacies between the various characters: Papa and Shirley's waltzing to the music just before the opening of the new launderette whilst Omar (played by Gordon Waneche) and Jonny (Daniel Day-Lewis in one of his many breakthrough roles) dance to their own tune in the anteroom just as amusing as Shirley riding Papa whilst the horse-racing is on the radio in the background.
The homosexuality thread of the story is certainly a taboo too far, Frears perhaps trying to deal too many cards in one hand, but the tone of frustration - not just Omar's but Frears' with his own country - lingers menacingly under the surface, boiling over at just the right times to remind the viewer that sometimes this Britain is not so Great.
Adapted from the autobiography of the same name, Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind is not so much one man revealing the targeted killings that he has perpetrated as a CIA agent throughout his secret past, but more a sad tale of the same man's battle coming to terms with the successes and failures of his career. The individual in question is Chuck Barris, an infamous prime time celebrity in America responsible for shows such as The Newlyweds Game, The Gong Show and The Dating Game (the latter the template on which the UK's very own Blind Date was based). When it was published, Barris's autobiography caused something of a whirlwind - here was a man, after all, that had been accused by his contemporaries of "dumbing down" America through his infantile shows; literally, of "killing off" everything that the cultural institutes were attempting to build up. A striking image towards the end of the film, where the entire live audience is seen murdered with gun-shot wounds highly prominent in a bleached shot, symbolises the strange position that Barris seems to hold: one time entertainer, now bloody assassin.
The directorial debut of George Clooney (who also appears as a Christ-like, government agent who recruits Barris), Confessions... is an intriguing film that doesn't necessarily offend but doesn't please either. Arguments as to whether Barris's confessions are true or not distract too much from an admittedly stylish production whilst screenwriter Charlie Kaufmann, dealing with real figures in fictional situations and vice versa with his usual panache, delivers the sort of ambiguity that unfortunately leaves the viewer not quite sure what they think of proceedings. Certainly, it is a promising start for Clooney that will do his credibility no harm at all.
Continuing where he left off in Blood Work, Clint Eastwood's multi-Oscar winning epic charts the impact of a 'police'-incident on the lives of three young boys who are drawn together in later life as one investigates the murder of the other's daughter, in which the third stands as the accused. Ostensibly a masculine film about the relationships between these three men - powerful performances from Kevin Bacon, Tim Robbins and Sean Penn in particular - and the circumstances that determine their respective fates, Mystic River has the air of a tragedy, albeit one that is self-consciously attempting to attain that status which in turn demands serious credibility. Its strength lies within the acting, a compliment masquerading as something of a caveat for the story relies on a turn of events that do jar somewhat on the scales of probability. It is arguable that Sean Penn's Oscar for best actor would probably have been better deserved for his role in 21 Grams since here he relies on his tendency to overact, but Tim Robbin's turn as the troubled Dave - all mumbling, wide-eyed and clumsy - provides a noteworthy antidote. Perhaps the sympathy we are meant to feel for the tragic Dave is somewhat shaded by his Lady Macbethian wife (played by Marcia Gay Harden), whose lack of strength hardly emanates from an understanding of her husband; then again, all ideas of strength and morality are encapsulated in Sean (Kevin Bacon), a regular guy whose mysterious communications with his wife symbolise the lack of communication between the friends whose past will always determine their future.
The tale of a young girl's battle against the traditional, ritualistic tribesmanship symbolised by her unrepenting grandfather, Whale Rider rightly drew attention to a young New Zealand star, Keisha Castle-Hughes, who was nominated for the Best Actress Award at the 2004 Academy Awards. Whilst the subject matter to younger eyes would embody the eternal struggle between age and youth, those that lived through the feminist developments of the 1960s will see in Paikea (Castle-Hughes) a spirit similar to their own, a young woman whose respect for her community is gently eroded as her right to take up what is rightfully hers is refused by the elders unwilling to let go of their own past. A welcome contribution from New Zealand Arts Council, Whale Rider will not be remembered for its sentimentalism but instead for the breakthrough performances of its young star.
Luc Besson's futuristic tale, complete with costumes from Jean-Paul Gaultier and highly sexy performance from his then-wife Milla Jovovich, proves to be too much for the senses to handle as the overload of gaudy design, malevolent extra-terrestrials and fundamentally weird hair-cuts saps the ability to concentrate out of anyone watching this colourful concoction.
Bruce Willis, reassuringly sarcastic and put-upon as taxi driving ex-soldier Gorbon Dallas, picks up Looloo (Jovovich), the "fifth element" that will provide humanity with the key to escape the impending attack of evil. Protecting her from forces led by Gary Oldman's Zorg and aided by prophet Cornelius (Ian Holm), Willis ends up in Paradise as the lucky winner of a competition, finding clues as to the importance of his companion's existence and defending her in the face of rather willful attacks in the form of what can only be described as frightening looking toads with guns.
Unfortunately, it is all a little too ostentatious to be enjoyable. Though there are appealing parts here and there (most noteworthy of which is a wildly amusing early appearance from Chris Rock), at its heart The Fifth Element revels in a violence and catastrophe that do not rhyme with Looloo's horror at mankind and the acts it has committed against itself. This is a fundamental flaw that all the gaud in the world could not avoid.
The swinging, arachnid super hero returns in this entertaining and ambitious continuation of the Marvel comic book adaptation that looks like turning into one of the most successful franchises in modern cinema. Still under the direction of Sam Raimi, Tobey Maguire returns as Peter Parker and his secret identity whilst Kirsten Dunst retains her role as love interest and damsel who is generally in distress Mary Jane Watson. Joining them is Alfred Molina as "Doc Ock", a scientist (of all the jobs!) whose experiment goes wrong and leads to his acquisition of four mechanical arms with a mind of their own whilst James Franco as Harry Osborn - son to the murdered Green Goblin - continues on his quest to avenge his father's death at the hands of Spider-man.
It may seem that their scrummaging through comic books for the latest film mega hit is proof that the powerful studios are starting to scrape the barrel: not the barrel of entertainment, you understand, but of investing in character development and supporting original ideas. The ease with which sequels are developed (and sequel of a sequel if things go really well) supports this idea of quick investment maximum gain, as does the upcoming Garfield, Hellboy and the passed Hulk, X-Men franchise and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. What is worse, the bad guys - in the tradition of comic books the alter egos of their foes - are generally scientists whose experiments have gone awry; if scientists are generally this unsuccessful then somebody should consider talking to their funding councils. There is a homogeneity to the business of comic-books-as-films that sets the bar high for anyone considering yet another transition.
At first, Spider-man looked like it was going to be another victim to the burgeoning money-printing that studios were indulging in but that soon proved to be a miscalculation: revealing itself to be superior to anything in the film-of-the-comic genre, it took almost $822m worldwide and placed itself at the top of box office records the world over. Not only was the money celebrated but critics generally approved of the film - an indication that someone, somewhere was doing things right. The only problem most could see was whether to include a hyphen in the title or not.
Without a doubt, that person was Sam Raimi, the quietly effective man at the helm of the franchise. Retaining him as director has proved to be the master stroke: everything within his web seems to fall victim to his touch. Thus, Spider-man 2 is not simply an exercise in more fights, more grand backgrounds and more effects but instead a melancholic confrontation between Peter Parker the A-grade student and Peter Parker the reluctant super hero. Behind the superficiality of the admittedly impressive effects of "Spidey" traversing the skyscrapers lies the exploration of a young man coming to terms with the 'great responsibility' placed on his shoulders. As well as having time for exhilarating, loud fights between hero and foe, Raimi ensures we learn about the man behind the mask and what he has become demands if him. Where Hulk limited itself to such subtleties only to cause another burst of action, Spider-man 2 uses them as extended pieces, giving a greater rhythm to the film and a sense of responsibility on behalf of the viewer. Peter Parker is telling us that it is not all beating up bad guys; sacrifices have to be made, too. Thus, his relationships with Mary Jane, his aunty May and best-friend James all suffer whilst the burden of super hero clings to his puny shoulders.
The franchise will continue, no doubt, which is of no real concern if Raimi continues to direct. If Kirsten Dunst decided she has had enough of the M.J. role then that would be no great loss - although her droopy eyes and slightly fanged teeth worked wonders in The Virgin Suicides, here they hardly do the film any favours - and so only the possibility of a confrontation between James and Peter being something of a closed loop could suggest complacency on the production team's behalf. Still, if a third film manages to include the unexpected (though realistic) developments included in 2 then Spider-man 3 will still be something to look forward to and a film many will happily buy a cinema ticket for. Will it be the first sequel-of-a-sequel to be better than the original sequel? Only time - and Sam Raimi - can tell.
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